Fire and Water
by Feathers Fall Like Snow
Summary: We've all read the story of how John gets amnesia after The Great Game, but what if instead of Sherlock finding him Moriarty did. Slash Moriarty/John/Sherlock
1. Fire and Water

**Well this is my first story and Its kind of starting to write itself so we will see where it goes**

**and quick question would you rather have a lot of short more frequently updated chapters or long less frequent chapter (just tell me in the review along with what you think) no matter what you choose all the other chapters will be a bit longer than this **

**So ya I love slash so be expecting it and the slash for this story will be: Jim Moriarty/John Watson/Sherlock Holmes**

**it will be interesting...I hope**

**any whos on with the show!...story!**

**and yes every chapter will begin with Fire or Water because I am creative like that**

**oh ya I won nothing and if you plan on using this whole Moriarty finding John thing then please credit me**

* * *

Fire and Water, they were two completely different thing. Two things that were complete opposites yet they went together so well. They canceled each other out and they worked together. Fire and Water, that's all Sherlock could think about. That's all that surrounded him. The fire was sharp and clear every flame and stroke in clear vision warming and heating everything it touched, destroying everything in its way. The water was blurring his vision surrounding him like a strong embrace cooling him and choking him.

A third sensation was added to the contradiction two, air, and before long land as something was pulling him out of the suffocating water and on to the dry earth. The water on his body was making him shiver as the cool air kissed his body. The earth was hot and wet as the water was dripping off and the fire continued to surround the building. But Sherlock couldn't focus his mind was as frozen and he was barely paying attention to what was going on around him. He hardly noticed himself coughing as his body exchanged the water in his lungs for air. The water in his ears dripping out allowing him to clearly hear each crack and snap of the fire and each break in the unstable building.

Soon a new noise filled his ears, commands, yelling, people shouting for life and a response. He yelled back alerting them that there were in fact people in there. Help was coming for him and- John! Dear God, where was he? How could Sherlock have even forgotten that John was there? He was the one who pushed Sherlock into the water; John was in the water with him.

Looking around the dark haired man noticed blood in the pool diffusing in the water, and on the side of the pool. John had been pulled out of the water. Sherlock immediately tried to stand up, a wave of nausea washing over him as he tried to stand too quickly. He set his hand on his knee and the other on his head as the dizziness subsided. More carefully he stood up looking around for his friend. Calling out for him above the roar of the flames and the cries of the firemen and officers. His grey-blue eyes darted from every corner of the room searching every centimeter of the place. Nothing, damn it! Sherlock was shaking in fear, Moriarty was no where to be seen either. Both John and Moriarty were missing. Sherlock could go the rest of his life without seeing Moriarty again, but John...never.

Sherlock's keen eyes noticed the trail of blood and water that led to the door. Details and other small traces filled his mind as the pieces fit together. Moriarty had taken John again. Sherlock cursed aloud, his angered cry over powering all other noises. Sherlock was now shaking out of anger at Moriarty that damned bastard would die slowly once Sherlock got a hold of him and out of fear for John. He hated it he had never had to look out for anyone besides himself before, he always enjoyed being alone, he loved the solitude, and yet he loved John's presence more. He despised how he cared so much for John. He detested how angered and upset he was getting at one man going missing, but John wasn't some random man, John was well John, and Sherlock new he needed to get him back, he swore as he stared at the collapsing building before turning on his heel and walking out the pool doors.

* * *

He remembers the cool touch that soothed and stung his head and body. He remembers the heaviness of the water pushing him further and further down, but it was kind enough to let him move freely. He remembers someone pulling him up and laying him on the ground and out of the water. He saw each flick of the flames around him, warming his body and bringing him peace. It was strange how the uncontrollable element could bring him to ease. He closed his eyes and allowed the burning flames to heat his shivering body, unaware of the toxic air that was hovering around and above him. He was too peaceful until something lifted him up from the warm earth.

He looked around barely able to see clearly, he noticed a long figure lying next to where he used to be. It-no _he_ was darkly dressed with just as dark hair that was slicked to his head. He couldn't see his face, but he looked so familiar. A part of his body was wanting to stay next to that man and with the warming fire, but this man that was carrying him was rushing through the flames and out to the fresh air, and back into darkness.

* * *

**Yay chapter one is done and I am a poet and know it and I can make a rhyme anytime**

**So now please review and favorite and what not**

**ps I promise not matter what you choose all the other chapters will be shorter than this one**

**thank ya! **

**Feathers**


	2. Waking and Watching

**I have a weird music choice while writing this**

**and please dont kill me for gaps in between updates I have sooooo much stuff and no free time **

**do you mind chapters being this length range? I want to try and update quicker although shool and stuDYING sucks and is killing me!**

**yes every chapter will begin with Fire or Water because I am creative like that**

**oh ya I own nothing and if you plan on using this whole Moriarty finding John thing then please credit me or something cause stealing is rude and no beta so ya **

* * *

Fire. It was all anyone could see; it's glow out shown the stars. Its looks were beautiful; it's effects were devistating, but Sherlock couldn't care less about that. He just had to get out of that damned area. Soon enough he saw Lestrade shouting into a radio as firemen swarmed the building. Sherlock walked over towards the DI and before the man could notice began speaking to him, "There's no one else in the building."

Lestrade cursed at the sight of Sherlock along with his sudden appearance. "What the hell happened here?" Lestrade shouted.

The volume of his voice would have made anyone else cower in fear but Sherlock stood strong and unfazed by the man. "I confronted Moriarty." The DI was silenced at that statement, but before he could ask any questions Sherlock continued. "He used John as the final pip, and the only means of escape was the bomb. Now no one else is in the building, I checked myself." Sherlock's gaze was hard and cold.

"John was in there too? Where the hell is he?" Lestrade asked confused and worried.

"Moriarty took him when he escaped." Nothing could seem as terrifying as Sherlock did at that moment. No cold exterior that blocked off his emotions; just pure rage. Lestrade wanted to say something but was too shocked at the killer look in Sherlock's eyes. "We _will_ find him." It wasn't a question it was a demand. There was no room for excuses or exceptions in his comment. Lestrade only nodded before a new voice added to their group redirecting Sherlock's attention.

"Sherlock," If there was ever a time that Sherlock did not want to see his high stung brother now would be it. "Sherlock, I would like a word with you." Mycroft walked up to the two men and stood right between them. "You're dismissed Detective." He commanded without taking his eyes off his little brother. Lestrade gave a single nod and left as soon as he could, he may not have been as smart as the government man, but, hell, even he could tell that now was not the time for anyone's presence around Sherlock.

"What the hell do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock spat venomously.

"My, my, someone's testy. I take my eyes off you for two seconds and you blow up a building." Sherlock's now grey eyes glared at the elder. "And I see Doctor Watson is missing, got caught in the cross fire? You clearly need to think things through, Sherlo-" He never got the chance to finish his sentence as Sherlock's boney hands wrapped around Mycroft's neck.

"I swear to God, Mycroft, you make one more smart ass comment and I _will_ kill you." He threatened eyes gleaming with hatred.

Mycroft's eyes widened a bit at his brother's actions but only nodded as Sherlock soon began to unwind his hands from his brother's neck. "I see," Mycroft eventually said. "My men and I will do the best we can to locate John and Moriarty and he will immediately be taken-"

"No!" Sherlock objected. "I want to deal with Moriarty myself."

Mycroft's bored look stayed on his brother. "That's not-"

"Moriarty's _my_ problem and_ I_ will terminate him _myself_!" Sherlock exclaimed before storming away from his brother. The detective wasn't sure what he should do next he had no clue, no idea, nothing to go on. What the hell does Moriarty want with John? Why couldn't Sherlock protect the one person that actually cared for him, the one person who he cared for?

Sherlock trudged against the chaotic crowd going against the turmoil but further into the flames. He headed back to Baker Street; ignoring the cries around him, all the noise pollution and the people surrounding him. He fought against it, heading back to his flat he was enraged, like an uncontained fire that would consume everything in its path until it was satisfied and received what it demanded and desired. This fire would swallow everything around it, and eventually destroy the one thing it needed, the water that could cool it and kill it.

* * *

Water that was the first thing he noticed as a cup was placed to his lips and the cool liquid soothed his burning throat. "Easy now," A voice commented to his actions. Some part of him began to panic as his brain immediately began to try and figure out what had happened and who that man was. He opened his eyes as the cup was removed from his lips. An average sized man sat in front of him, he looked overly happy, dark hair and eyes, clean cut and...soaked from head to toe. The man smiled from ear to ear as he asked "How are you feeling?"

The confused man racked his mind for who this man was, but honestly he couldn't even remember who he was, and as if the happy man could read his mind his perfectly trimmed brows knitted together before questioning. "Do you remember who I am?" The blonde haired man remained silent, "Come on, we're friends, you don't recognize me?" Friends? He didn't even know this man! Said man's joyful face dropped as his eyes saddened and his smile disappeared. "You really don't remember me?" The blonde man could only shake his head. Something in him was shouting at him to leave this man's presence immediately, to not talk to this man, his 'friend', but that couldn't be right.

Meanwhile the disappointed man sighed as he asked what all he could recall. As he shook his head his eyes went to his hands in his lap before answering "Nothing. I don't even remember who I am."

There was an awkward silence as the other man nodded before answering, "You're John Watson, Doctor John Watson."

'John' looked up and focused on the man in front of him. "John Watson?" The man smiled as he nodded. "A-and you said I'm a doctor?"

The man's eyes gleamed as his voice got slightly higher. "Yes! You were an army doctor who served in Afghanistan." The man watched as John's hands went down to his aching right leg. "Is your leg bothering you?" John blinked before nodding. The blonde flinched as the man's hands moved to his leg. The dark eyed man smiled as he began rubbing John's sore leg. His actions were soothing but something about this man's touch made him tense. He didn't try to examine why he knew his mind wouldn't remember. Luckily though the man stopped. "Does it feel better, now?" he asked.

John simply nodded as he said, "Thank you."

The man gave a gleeful, yet creepy, smile. "You're welcome!" John continued to puzzle of his multiple injuries. "You got it in the war. It's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and you have a psychosomatic limp. It's from the shot in your left shoulder." The blonde man was speechless; he hadn't even mentioned his aching shoulder. The other man seemed to enjoy his awe. As John wondered how exactly he knew the man began to answer as if he had read his mind. "You're shoulders are tense, yes they tensed when I touched you u and when you first woke up but you rolled your left shoulder only." Once again John was left speechless. Who exactly was this man? Unfortunately he did not read his mind that time but continued saying, "And I know everything about you."

Blue eyes widened at this statement. The man smiled before setting his hand on John's left shoulder as his thumb brushed against it once. The still unknown man stood up from the bed they sat on, his hand slid across John's cheek before he began to leave the room. Still confused John only stared at the person leaving as he asked, "Wait, who are you?"

The dark haired man froze before turning around and showing his eerie smile as he said, "Of course, how rude of me. I'm James Moriarty, but you call me Jim." And with that he was gone.

* * *

The fireplace continued to burn, each quick whip of the flames reminding Sherlock of what had just occurred. All he could do was stare at the pink phone, he had already tried everything else. He had dug up the number Jim had given him at the hospital, he called it. Yes it was a working line, yes he got a voicemail, and yes the voicemail pissed him off even more.

It was taunting and increased Sherlock's growing desire to strangle the man as he heard Moriarty say, "Hello Sherlock! I can't come to the phone right now, but I bet you already knew that, you _are_ very clever! Any who if you _are_ calling this number I'm sorry but I'm not interested in you in _that _way, but I have found someone else! He's adorable and you would _love_ him! I'll contact you soon enough, toodles!"

It took all of Sherlock's self control not to toss the phone across the room. Where the hell was he? If he wanted to burn the heart out of Sherlock mission accomplished! John was definitely the way to do so, but why? What the hell had Sherlock ever done to the man? Moriarty was the one who challenged him. Moriarty was the one who invited him to solve the riddles. Moriarty was the reason all this was happening. It_ is_ Moriarty's fault.

But he's not twelve, sure he may act like it but in reality you can't just point fingers, they're both guilty. Moriarty set the trap and Sherlock took it, and, oh God, did he love it. Moriarty cured his boredom, he was better than any drug. Moriarty was the sweet relaxing puzzle he's hunted for, an addicting drug that he couldn't kick, but instead of his body getting hurt it was John, and that's why he had to get rid of him. If Moriarty wanted to play with flames then Sherlock would give him a forest fire.

He couldn't stop pacing, he would sit and try to calm down, play his violin, watch the telly, anything to distract him, yet it would not work he would soon spring from his seat and continue his pacing. His mind tried to connect non existent dots; trying to think of any possible clues that could and would lead to John, yet he was grasping for what wasn't there. God, his impatience was aggravating but he couldn't just stand around waiting, he had to do something! Cue the ping of the pink phone.

That noise granted Sherlock with a mixture of emotions: rage, anxiety, anger, annoyance, and also relief. Opening the text he wasn't sure what to make of it, there were no words, no pictures, just a voice message. Sherlock was not one to expect the worst but after hearing that he wasn't too pleased. The voice message was that bloody robotic sounding voice that sand "You've got mail!" Sherlock never really liked it, it annoyed him, but now he despised it. Attempting to keep his emotions in check he strode over to John's laptop and quickly hacked John's email account. There in big bold letters at the top of John's email was Sherlock's name, and upon opening the email all there was, was a single link.

**[Link]**

He didn't second guess himself as he clicked the link; impatiently waiting for the sight to open, but there it was a plain black background as a video began to play. At first the video matched the background but within a few seconds the image of a bedroom flashed upon the screen. John. He immediately noticed his unconscious friend lying in the bed as, thankfully, his chest rose and fell with each constant breath, but there next to John was Moriarty, both still soaked from the pool incident. Sherlock clenched his fists as he watched the video continue.

John was showing signs of waking up and Moriarty sat John up and grabbed the glass of water on the table before he pressed it to John's lips. Sherlock felt relief wash over him as John began to wake up and tense at Moriarty's presence. Jim's smile never faltered as he asked John if he was alright, obviously ignoring John's awkwardness.

Then he told John they were friends when the doctor didn't respond. Friends? John, the saint-like man friends with that murderer? But what also scared Sherlock was the fact that John didn't recognize the man. Sure that could be a positive thing but if John really had lost his memories then now he was merely a piece of metal for Moriarty to mold into a weapon against Sherlock. The detective watched and listened closely as the fiend asked what John could recount. "Nothing, I don't even remember who I am." That phrase cut Sherlock, he and John were doom, the only person who how miraculously squeezed his way into the machines core and had changed him would now be gone only to become the person in Moriarty's imagination, and Sherlock's nightmares.

When Moriarty honestly told John his name and occupation Sherlock immediately tried to analyze what that meant. Would Moriarty change everything but the name, would he reveal everything except Sherlock, would he tell John the whole truth as a way to hurt Sherlock? Different ideas rushed in and out of Sherlock's mind running around before tagging out with another suspicion.

And when John's hand reached to his sore leg, he wished he could be there to help him. When Moriarty decided to check up on John's leg the detective fought against his anger as he watched Moriarty beginning to rub soothingly to ease the pain. The grey eyed man let out and angered breath when Moriarty finally decided to stop his intolerable act. Soon that demonic creature began to launch himself into a summary of John's injuries and their causes, which only made Sherlock wonder how long he had been planning this. But the words that seared Sherlock continued to burn against him. "And I know everything about you." How much? How much did Moriarty actually know about John? Did he know that John knew each pressure point in the human body? Did he know that John loved Bond movies? Did he know that John's (not so secret) guilty pleasure was chocolate? Did he know that John's smile was the one thing Sherlock could stare at all day? How much does Moriarty know about John? About them? Sherlock couldn't stand for it, he wouldn't, he swore he would stop Moriarty if it was the last thing he did. You couldn't understand the happiness Sherlock felt when that creature decided to leave the room, but not without answering John's question of who he was; he answered that correctly as well. As their conversation wrapped up Sherlock noted that once again Moriarty's acting skills would trick another person and twist them into what he wanted them to believe.

It wasn't too long later when the video feed cut off; Sherlock wasn't sure what to do. John didn't remember himself or Sherlock, Moriarty would twist John to benefit his own selfish plan, and Sherlock had no way to find John, no way to track him down, no clues, nothing! He was utterly useless as he silently stared at the screen, partly hoping for the video to revive itself so he could see John one more time.

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**Yay chapter two is through and I am a poet and know it and I can make a rhyme anytime**

******ok so tell me what you think and your favorite part so I know what type of writing style people like just tell me a part or line-it helps me kinda**

******Ya so I wasn't origionally going to have the last sentence in the 2cd to last paragraph but I wanted to mention that if Moriarty seems OOC in front of John it's because he using John and trying to trick him and I doubt John would believe a psycho high pitched lunatic so Im going to try and keep him partly in character but enough not to creep out John if that makes sence**

**So now please _review, alerts, favorite,_ and what not**

**ps still experamenting with chapter lengths but Im thinking this length as an average its about 3000 words**

**thank ya! **

**¡sɹǝɥʇɐǝɟ**


	3. Answers and Anger

**I have a weird music choice while writing this**

**and please dont kill me for gaps in between updates I have sooooo much stuff and no free time **

**Wow this is long alright I want to try and update quicker although shool and stuDYING sucks and is killing me! But I have a feeling that this next part will be easier to write if not the part after that is simple! I have it all planned out ku ku ku!**

**yes every chapter will begin with Fire or Water because I am creative like that**

**oh ya I own nothing and if you plan on using this whole Moriarty finding John thing then please credit me or something cause stealing is rude and no beta so ya **

* * *

Water, that's what John decided he needed. John took this time to also examine his location. It was small yet not cramp. He was lying on a now wet bed, thanks to himself and James/Jim/Mr. Moriarty/ the creepy man who seemed to know everything about him. Next to him was a small table with a glass and pitcher filled with water. Across the room was a desk and chair that had various items that were neatly organized, much like the rest of the room. John assumed if this was his room it much be this tidy because of his military training. As he reached for the glass and pitcher the blonde man wondered about the man that just left. Was he really who he said he was? What was their relationship? What happened? And could John trust him.

After dousing his burning and dry throat John put back the glass as eh soon began to rack him mind for anything, any memories, and knowledge from before today, before the confusion, before he couldn't remember anything. John sighed in frustration as his hand ran through his wet hair.

Suddenly sick of his sopping clothes clinging to his now freezing body, John decided it was best if he changed. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed he immediately tried to stand up, only to be met with a searing pain rushing up his leg causing him to crumple to the ground clutching the bed. John bit back a cry of pain as he steadied himself, his knuckles now white. As he attempted once a again, minding his leg he stood mostly on his good leg, and thankfully upon his standing he noticed a cane placed against the side of the bed frame, and he immediately reached out for it.

After relearning how to balance and control his walk John made his way over to one of the doors. When he opened it a small blush rose to his cheeks as he looked slightly embarrassed upon the bathroom. Quickly and quietly he shut the door before hobbling over to the other door, and smiled in success as he looked at the closet in front of him. John skimmed the contents of it as his eyes laid upon a matching pair of navy silk pajamas. Gingerly grabbing the apparel he looked them over and compared it to his body, noting that they matched perfectly. The blue eyed man debated whether it was his or not and eventually came to the decision that he would just face whom ever's they were later, right now he was cold, wet, and tired. Carefully and a quickly as he could manage John changed out of his wet clothes and into the clean, smooth, and warm pajamas.

John carried his old clothes to the bathroom and neatly folded them before setting them on the ground. The exhausted man limped over to the dry, welcoming part of the seemingly angelic queen sized bed, as he slipped himself between the comforting sheets and blankets ahs his head touched the cloud like pillow. Before long John was lost in a deep sleep.

* * *

Fire. It was burning everything. He looked around at the crumbling building as he heard "Jim, from the hospital...gay...Sherlock...That's what people DO!" The sound of an explosion filled his ears along with the raining of bullets. The bright lights of the flames consumed his vision and the heat burned his body. Instantly his flaming body was submerge in water as he heard someone scream his name.

John's eyes shot open as he woke from his dream/nightmare/bloody hallucination, and the first thing he realized was someone sitting on the bed next to him adjusting a wet rag on his forehead as they stroked his hare. When he turned to see who it was, of course it was none other than Jim Moriarty...wonderful?

"Morning Johnny boy, well more like evening, but same difference!" He chirped. Jim smiled as he removed the wet rag and placed it in a bowl of water by the table and began to explain. "You had a nasty fever; I was trying to cool it down." He dried his hands with a town and dabbed John's forehead as well. "It looked like you were having a bad dream as well." John's mind flashed to the images and words in his dream. Jim laid next to John propping his head on his arm. "Wanna tell me about it?" His voice was high pitched as his eyes were filled with curiosity. John debated whether or not it was wise to tell him. Something about this man made him nervous...no creeped out...eh that was pretty close, but maybe it was his strange looks and personality, but then again he did know a lot about him. "Come on Johnny boy, we're friends!" John looked at him as he bit his lip still considering if he should. Jim on the other hand gave him a sad puppy dog look. "Don't tell me you don't believe me!" The upset man sighed. "You always did have trust issues, I just never thought I would have to reprove myself."

John filled with guilt as eh saw the sorrow in the man's voice. "No James-"

"Jim" He corrected.

"Jim, it's...it's not you, it's just a lot of things and especially since I don't really know what exactly happened or who I am..." John explained.

Jim nodded as his hand reached out and grabbed John's. His shocked blue eyes flew to meet Jim's darker ones. A slight blush rose to John's cheeks as Jim squeezed his hand. "I understand but you trust me enough to tell me." It sounded more like a statement or a command rather than a question, yet John knew Jim was right even if he wasn't fully convinced himself.

So he nodded and began to explain. "Everything was on fire and I was burning up; then suddenly there was shouting, something about you from the hospital, and 'gay', and it's what people do and...and..." The last word slipped his mind it was too strange to remember. "There was an explosion and someone screamed my name before I fell into water and woke up."

Jim's dark eyes seemed to analyze every detail of John's face, seeming deep in thought. "Is that it?" He asked which gained him a single nod in response.

The blonde man didn't miss the twinkle in Jim's eye before John asked, "What happened?" Jim went silent. "I think it might help me remember." A suspenseful silence filled the room. John thought that he had asked too much but luckily Jim decided to answer.

"I was facing, what I though would be, the final battle against my enemy." His voice sounded dream-like and became higher at the last to words. "He and I had been having a vigorous battle of wits. Let me say that what I do is help those who can't get help from any one else, I aid the aidless." He proclaimed. John nodded waiting for him to continue, hanging on his every word. "The man I faced against claims to be with the police, yet he was never highered by them nor is he paid. He steals and insults them and is a high functioning sociopath that will take anyone or anything, and destroy all that he can just to rid his boredom. He's been described as an emotionless machine or by his closer 'allies' a freak." John could only stare trying to figure how such a man, if he was one, could exist.

"So he invited me to a pool where a young boy died. He would be bringing missile plans and I would go and try to gain them back. I though it would be a fair fight, yet he did something that tipped the scales highly in his favor..." Jim trialed of staring intensely at John as his thumb had begun to stroke John's hand. The blue eyed man looked at their hands confused on what Jim was conveying, but what he said next shocked John and pulled their eyes to meet again. "He brought you." John could only stare at the lop sided grin on Jim's face. "I've been described to be just like him...I hate the thought, but there's one major difference between us...I care for someone..." He moved closer to John, gazing intensely into his eyes. "I care for you." Blue eyes widened as Jim moved closer.

John was now panicking, he had just met/re-met/whatever, this man and he barely knew anything about him or himself. As Jim began removing the inches between them John came to a decision, setting his finger on Jim's lips he explained. "I'm not ready." Jim's dark eyes showed shock and disappointment. "I-I still have a lot of questions and I want to hear the rest of your story." Jim nodded before John removed his finger from his lips, but that didn't stop Jim from wrapping one arm around John while the other still held and rubbed his hand.

"So where was I...oh yes, my enemy had brought you. I was planning on waiting for a while before going in but once I saw you...I had to go in especially since he had you tied to a bomb." Sock over came John. He was attached to a bomb? "When I went in I noticed all the snipers, and the fact he had his own gun on me, and while I couldn't do anything to help you I made sure all his focus was on me as I tried to regain the missile plans and save you. I went over to grab them when he offered them but I should have known better, for he tossed them into the pool. I wanted to kill him for all he was putting us through, but I knew you would never let me so you risked yourself and grabbed him bomb behind. You told me to run, but I couldn't leave you." The giddy man squeezed John's hand and nuzzled closer to John as he said the next part. "You have no idea how much that meant to me, to know that you cared for my safety above yours; to know that what we had was true and genuine. I hope that we can get back to that.

"When one of the snipers moved to me you let him go. Soon after he left us and I ripped the bomb off of you, and just when I thought we were safe he came back and shot the bomb by us. You pushed all of us into the pool, even when facing an enemy you can't let anyone die, you have a heart of gold!" Jim cheered. "After I over came the shock I pulled you both out , you would never forgive me if I let him die, and I then noticed you were shot in the arm." John's eyes followed Jim's to the bandages on his left arm. "I put some medication in your water so you wouldn't be in as much pain."

John gave a weary smile "Thank you."

Jim beamed as he replied in his high pitched voice. "You're welcome, John!" Jim smiled before continuing his story. "And then I brought you back to our home."

"Our home?" John echoed as Jim showed his teeth and nodded.

"Yes before the incident we took our relationship tot the next level."

John stared in confusion finally asking, "What exactly was our relationship?"

Jim's eyes widened with joy as his overly happy smile filled his face. "Johnny boy I'm so happy you want to know!" John only smiled and wondered what the answer would be. Jim pulled John closer as he began to explain. "First we were merely acquaintances. I met you at the hospital you used to work at. When we me you were incredibly kind and handsome, but neither of us were looking for a relationship and you were convinced that you were straight. So we hung around like friends and yet I was always yearning after you; waiting for a chance or proof that you liked me back. Thankfully I didn't have to wait long, for one night we both got overly drunk, something both of us hate, but it worked out for the best.

"We were heading back to my flat and when we arrived I invited you in and we soon began talking. In my drunken stat I commented on how perfect you are and how jealous I was of all the women you've been with and what you did next shocked me beyond belief. You grabbed me and kissed me! It made me so happy to know you loved me back!" He cheered. "But we didn't want to rush anything while we were drunk so we spent the rest of the night either making out or cuddling." Jim's eyes seemed to be piercing right into John waiting for a response, but when silence answered him Jim squeezed John and continued. "The next day we talked it over and decided to give our relationship a try. It was a little...strange at first but it was perfect and soon enough you moved in with me and nothing could have made us happier." There was a dream look on Jim's face as he spoke as he began to stroke John's blonde hair. "Within a month things got intimate and we were perfect until my enemy decided to come after me. I tried my best to keep you safe, but..." He looked regretful as sorrow filled his dark eyes. "I'm sorry."

John was unsure of what to do or say, yet his arms wrapped around Jim as he responded, "It's alright. It's not you fault; I forgive you."

Any trace of sorrow was gone as the joyful exterior took over. "Oh Johnny boy I knew you still cared for me!" John went silent as he tried to relax into Jim's hold. The dark eyed man smiled as he nuzzled closer to John, continuing to stroke his hair. Thankfully John's attempts were not in vain for soon enough he fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

* * *

_Ping__!_

Sherlock's eyes snapped open as he scrambled to John's computer. How long had he been asleep? True he had nothing to go on and he hadn't slept in over three days but he felt that he was doing nothing and proving to Moriarty that he was useless while he slept, and at least when he was awake he could think and not fall victim to the temptations of his dreams.

Sherlock tried to ignore the memories of his dreams, but they wouldn't remove themselves. They were all the same and they were as good as they were bad. John would be back and safe at Baker Street, Sherlock had tortured and killed Moriarty, and Sherlock and John were togeth-no. No, no, no, no, no! John was straight and Sherlock was asexual, but that didn't stop the dreams. Sherlock had tried to reason with himself multiple times, to define why he wanted the dreams to be real and why he should allow them to be, why it was ok for him to love John. He figured it was an experiment, liking someone as plain as John, loving someone as amazing and genuine as John, and if it was for the benefit of science and an experiment then he would just have to go along with it. Besides he loved the dreams and while he was asleep, though he knew it was all fake he would pretend just for a moment that everything was alright, that his dreams were real, yet this only made reality harder. So he repressed the memories of his dreams and focused on reality.

Sherlock didn't hesitate as he opened the email.

_Enjoy Sherlock! ;)_

**[Link]**

The sleuth could just hear Moriarty clack his tongue on the last syllable; his voice was bad enough but the videos were worse. Clicking the designated button the recording flickered on like some old horror movie that Sherlock couldn't help but watch.

It started simply with Moriarty walking in and setting a bowl and cloth on the bedside table before placing, what seemed to be and hour long, kiss on John's forehead. Sherlock clinched his fist in a silent protest; the detective continued watching as Moriarty climbed on the bed next to John and began stroking his hair before setting the cloth on John's forehead. Moriarty continued his petting John for a few minutes before John's eyes flew open.

Sherlock didn't take his eyes off the screen as Moriarty cheerily greeted him explaining the cloth on his head, but not without asking about John's dream, insisting for John to tell him. Why was his insisting and pushing the lie that they were friends? Moriarty continued to try and guilt John even bringing up his trust issues (how did he know this information?) until John confessed hi was still nervous and, much to Sherlock's dismay, Moriarty took John's hand and gave it a squeeze causing a faint red tint on John's cheeks. Sherlock gave his own fist a squeeze causing and caused his knuckles to turn white as he heard the bastard tell John that he does trust him enough to tell him. Continuing to fall further into Moriarty's deceitful personality and web of lies John began to tell his dream.

It was after the explosion Sherlock remember the searing flames and the destruction that the built around them. The dark haired man's ears perked up when he heard John mention shouting along with fragments of his, Johns, and Moriarty's conversation. The bits of the confrontation were nothing important except for a brief mention of Moriarty's name before John seemed to stumble on what happened next. Yet the pause was short as John managed to find the right words and memory of the next part, the deadly explosion before the life saving crash into the water.

Sherlock was glad that John's mind was trying to remember the re-orchestrate the even, no matter how horrific it was, yet what troubled him the most was that Sherlock wasn't mentioned once. There was no description of a tall dark haired man, no other man under the water, anything he had said, nothing! He couldn't have been forgotten by his best find; he had tried harder to try and form a friendship with John than anyone else, his efforts can't be in vain. Sherlock can't loose the one person he's reached for, he couldn't stand being forgotten. The detective tried to disregard his questions and fears once he heard John ask 'What happened?'

Once again, even without knowing, John voiced Sherlock's thoughts. The detective was pleased yet he couldn't shake the growing fear that continued to rise when Moriarty decided to answer. If Moriarty had an answer that meant he had planned and designed another section to his growing sting of lies.

Final battle against his enemy-that was truth enough, yet the lying arsehole began to 'explain his job'. The way he described it made him sound like an angel, yet Jim Moriarty was a far from an angel as a snake from a mouse.

_"The man I faced against claims to be with the police, yet he was nerve hired by them, nor is he paid."_ That's bullshit and both of them know it. He's a consulting detective, Moriarty's just taking things out of context. The police come to him, and they 'don't consult armatures' as John put it. Moriarty continued to describe Sherlock as willing to _"take anyone and anything or destroy all that he can just to rid his boredom"_ and as _"an emotionless machine_" Lies! Sherlock was not Jim Moriarty, so why lie to John; he was smart enough to figure it out, right?

Moriarty continued to tell about how he was invited to the pool where a 'young boy died' and how his 'enemy' would bring the missile plans and how he intended for hit to be a 'faire fight' and how his 'enemy' brought John. But what made Sherlock's jaw drop was the fact that he stated that his relationship with John was the one difference between him and Sherlock. Bull shit! John was what changed Sherlock, John drew the line in the sand and reinforced it with wire and guns.

Sherlock's train of thought crashed and burned with destructive flames as he saw Moriarty leaning closer to John; the small space between them closing as Sherlock knew exactly what he was planning. "No! Don't you fucking dare!" Sherlock shouted not standing and gripping the laptop.

Sherlock saw John place his finger on Moriarty's lips. _"I'm not ready..."_ Sherlock had never felt so relieved, well except for when he knew John wasn't really Moriarty. Sherlock sunk into the seat as John insisted on hearing more of the lie, and unfortunately Moriarty pulled himself closer to John and wrapped his arms around him.

The bastard continued to explain that Sherlock was the one who placed the bomb on John and how once Moriarty saw the bomb on him he rushed into save him. And how Sherlock was the one who dumped the missile plans and how John risked himself to save Moriarty, and how much it meant to Moriarty that John tried to save him. Sherlock glared at the video not willing to make any other noisy objections. As Moriarty continued the sleuth knew that he would just finish the story as if he were in Sherlock's position. He added that John pushed all of them into the pool and praising John's 'heart of gold'. Ending with Moriarty explaining how he pulled all of them out, including Sherlock for John's sake, and took John back to _their _home.

Sherlock re-gripped the computer as John asked what their relationship was. Telling how they met at the hospital John worked at (he never bloody got the job until after he met Sherlock!) and how they were the closest of friends and all that changed when they got drunk. John Watson does not drink, and you can thank Harry and her awful addiction for that, he saw what it did to her and never wanted to touch a bottle. Moriarty continued explaining about how John kissed him, who would want to kiss someone as devious as Moriarty anyways? He had the gall to then state that they decided to actually date and then later live together before getting 'intimate', Sherlock fired a barrel full of bullets into the wall when Moriarty said that, and how _Sherlock_ screwed everything up by kidnapping John and challenging _Moriarty_. The tale came to an end as Moriarty tricked John into forgiving him and making him think that they still have something before John fell asleep in Moriarty's arms.

The screen stayed like that for a good while and Sherlock couldn't take it anymore before he slammed the screen shut and flipped the table. John was supposed to be in Sherlock's arms not Jim's. His wild rampage of screeches and destruction continued for a good while before his door burst open and Lestrade and a few other Scotland Yard officers charged in.

The DI stared wide eyed at the angered man in front of him. "Sherlock..." He whispered in shock. The other officer's also looked surprised at the sight of him, they shouldn't be they always believed he was destructive. Sherlock then felt a drop of water land on his foot. Oh, they weren't surprised that he was destroying everything they were surprised that the Freak had emotions.

"Get out!" Lestrade ordered. Every officer scrambled from the room in silence and the older man waited a few seconds before putting up his gun and walking over to Sherlock. "Sherlock are you-" He was cut off as Sherlock collapsed into his arms trying his best to contain the sobs. The grey haired man frowned and looked down sympathetically at the broken man. "There, there Sherlock. Let's get you down to the station." He said trying to straighten the man up. He may not have a mind as great as Sherlock's but he knew that John was more important to Sherlock than what meets the eye, and Sherlock's were missing the fire that once seemed so bright. If they didn't get John back soon who knows what will happen to the lad.

**

* * *

**

Yay chapter three is history and I am a poet and know it and I can make a rhyme anytime

******ok so tell me what you think and your favorite part so I know what type of writing style people like just tell me a part or line-it helps me kinda-speaking parts vs descriptive parts**

**I love the second to last paragraph in my oppinion and Sherlock was surprisingly hard to write I couldn't get the words I wanted so sorry if this sucks**

**So now please _review, alerts, favorite,_ and what not**

**thank ya! **

**¡sɹǝɥʇɐǝɟ**


	4. Talking and Police

Water. It stung Sherlock's eyes as it dripped down his cheeks. He didn't care whether or not anyone saw him as he stared down at the, now a lukewarm, cup of coffee that he held in his lap. Every once in a while, he normally would know the times, his own tears would land in the mug, tainting the dark drink. Lestrade had tried to talk to him, but Sherlock didn't want to think at the moment, much less speak; the DI eventually gave up and left the numb man alone.

Lestrade sighed as he glanced over at Sherlock, never had he seen anyone look so hollow, and he had delivered news of deaths to families and friends. Sherlock wasn't suppose to look so vulnerable, Sherlock was suppose to be invincible, untouchable, uncaring, emotionless, not-not this. He wasn't suppose to look worse than death, like that's what he would rather be, he wasn't suppose to seem fragile and empty; any fire that once shone in those blue eyes were now put out into a dull grey ash.

"What's the Freak doing here?" Donavan. God, he almost forgot. "We don't have a case shouldn't he be at his flat with his 'colleague' Dr. Watson. Now Sally didn't mind the Doctor, he was a nice man, tough army man, wounds to prove it, but should not be hanging around the Freak. Dr. Watson had even invited her to dinner once to apologize for his flat mate's rude behavior. The dinner was delightful, the Doctor more so. He was a complete gentile man, and the complete opposite of a certain high functioning sociopath. He tried to reason with Sally about Sherlock's obscene behavior and also tried to get to know Sally better while also explaining himself. She would enjoy being with a guy like him, if it wasn't for the fact that she swore he was in some sort of twisted relationship with Sherlock, or gay (because no man could be that exceptional), and the fact that she was in a good relationship with Anderson . She felt as if they could actually be friends, thus why she often warned him to take up a different hobby; she didn't want to see one of the few good men in the world hurt.

Lestrade grabbed the woman's arm and dragged her away from the occupied office. She yanked her arm away and asked again "What's _he_ doing here?" There was an annoyed tone in her voice. She glared at Sherlock, whose dark curls hid his face, before returning her gaze to her boss.

"There was a reported disturbance at his flat-"

"Oh, did the the Doctor finally snap at him?" She asked with a gleam in her eye.

Lestrade glanced at the very interesting floor "No, Dr. Watson, He was uh..." Taking a deep breath he looked at the frizzy haired woman "Dr. Watson is missing." Sally stared wide eyed at him, speechless for once. "He was taken by Moriarty the night of the explosion."

Sally's face twisted in horror before she glanced between Sherlock and Lestrade. Anger flashed across her face as Lestrade saw the tears in the corners of her eyes. It was too late to stop the woman as she stormed over to Sherlock and towered over him. "You bastard!" She shouted, gaining the attention of all Scotland Yard, but Sherlock wouldn't look at her. "What the hell have you done? John's a good man; he defended you! I knew you couldn't have a colleague. Look what happens, he gets taken and you're just sitting on your arse doing nothing about it! I tried to warn him that you weren't good for him yet he decided that I was wrong about you and that you actually did have a caring side. Well now that he's actually in danger you don't give a fuck! You're nothing but and emotionless sociopath and because of you John Watson will die and you don't-" Sherlock's head snapped up as he glared pure hatred at the frustrated woman. Sally's breath became stuck in her throat when she saw the detective's face.

The tear tracks shown on his pale face and his blue eyes were pale and red rimmed. There was an unexplainable rage painted on his features, it took all of Donavan's strength not to shudder and shrivel away under his gaze.

Sherlock rose form his seat and glared down at her. All of Scotland Yard watched in silence to see the detectives reaction. "John is _not_ going to die." He practically demanded. "I care about John and I have tried every possible way to find Moriarty. You have no bloody idea how much he is taunting me; you don't know how much this is effecting me." Sally shook her head as she backed up and hit Lestrade's desk. She clamped her hand over her mouth when she saw a tear streak down the 'emotionless man's' face. His eyes were filled with a deep look of anger and determination yet he couldn't hide the actual sorrow and concern through the fierce look.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock" She murmured "I'm sorry"

The sleuth sneered at her before looking over at Lestrade. "Bring me everything you have about Moriarty." he demanded, eyes now a smokey grey as the fire ignited inside him once again, overshadowing the blue pools of grief. Lestrade nodded awestruck at Sherlock's quick change of emotion as he lead the shaky Donavan out of the room. Sherlock began pacing the room ignoring the few stares that remained on him. He racked his brain for any did bit of information from the videos, yet his mind kept drifting back to the fact that he was never mentioned. Sherlock was never mentioned!

Moriarty's nervous that Sherlock might trigger John's memories or else he would have mentioned him! Sherlock sat in Lestrade's chair and hacked into his computer (much too easy, they really need an upgrade). He pulled up John's email and began to reply to the last one.

_This isn't a game. Give me John. You and I both know that once John hears my name it's all over. I will find him, and if you lay one finger on him I will destroy you._

Sherlock didn't sign his name as he sent the email to the person, knowing it would get to Moriarty. Not a minute later a reply came.

_Aw Sherlock that's so sweet! I knew you had a heart. Johnny seems perfectly fine here; you and I both know he wasn't complaining. I'm not afraid of you Sherlock I am breaking you, I have made you cry, I am winning our little game. John Watson is mine and I can do whatever I want with him and it's killing you to know that I'm right. _

_I might be nice and give you a chance to find him._

_TTFN Jim ;D_

Sherlock just stared at the email. _That bastard_, he thought trying to control his anger. Another email soon flashed up and Sherlock didn't hesitate to open it, although he wondered what it could say.

_Oh and Sherlock, dear, I noticed that you destroyed you phone. I'll send you a new one with a little surprise._

_Au revoir Jim ;D_

Sherlock clinched his fist and tried not to revert to what he did back at the flat. Of course he destroyed the phone. Everything that happened in his loss of control was a complete haze. He partly wondered if Mrs. Hudson would mind tiding up he didn't want John to see the mess he'd made.

* * *

John woke up alone, his head felt as if it were filled with cotton but soon cleared. He scanned the room to make sure that Jim wasn't there he even tried calling out for him, but no response came. John stayed in the bed for a few more minutes before he tossed off the blankets and grabbed his cane to begin walking towards the closet to grab some fresh clothes and headed for the bath. The blonde stood there for a minute debating whether he could and should take a shower, eventually he decided that Jim did say he lived here so it was fine.

After making sure the door was locked he stripped down and turned on the hot water and hopping in. As soon as the water hit his skin he wondered if showers had always felt this wondrous. The ache in his leg seemed to dissolve down the drain; he just stood there for a few moments, letting the water pound against his skin and ignoring his own racing thoughts. Soon enough he took up th e products and applied them to his hair. The sweet smell filled his nose as he scrubbed his scalp, pulling out bits of dirt and dried blood he continued to clean himself leaving only a clean and refreshed feeling. Yet as he washed he couldn't ignore his thoughts any longer. He pondered on his life, Jim, and his gut feelings. Jim had been there from the moment he woke up, he had been able to answer his questions and seemed to know all about his life and himself. John felt at a loss, something was off, like he shouldn't be there, as if who ever the enemy is might still be after him and close by, but he was being paranoid. Jim had said that he and his rival already had their final showdown and Jim saved the man's life, so he shouldn't have any reason to come after them. Which just left his newest and greatest question: What does he do with his and Jim's relationship?

John's mind teetered between leaving Jim , continuing their relationship, and just remaining friends. As he rinsed his hair and re cleansed his battered body he came up with the right decision, at least he hoped he did. John stepped out of the shower and dried himself with a near by towel and quickly hanged into the jeans and crisp white collared shirt that he found in the closet. The clothes fit hm perfectly (which shouldn't have been too big of a surprised considering the fact that he did live there) he took the now dirty pjs and paced them in a hamper by the door.

John walked back into the bedroom and noticed a book shelf on the far wall above a small desk. He gazed at the books all by J.R. Tolkien, he picked up one called The Hobbit and went to sit on the bed to read it. The book was quite good, so good he didn't notice Jim entering the room half an hour later. He also missed the was Jim's breath caught in his throat when he saw John, but he didn't miss the high pitched squeal of "Johnny-boy!"

John's head snapped up and he set down the book, not bothering to mark his page, and walked over to Jim. "Hello Jim, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment?" Jim's eyes flashed with curiosity and he nodded. John led the other man to the bed to sit and didn't meet his eyes. Jim didn't even try to hid the curiosity and wonder on his face but he did love the red color John's, who was trying to figure out how to word what he needed.

* * *

A beep alerted Sherlock about the newest email. "Oh God what now?" Sherlock groaned turning to open the newest link. He would not get all emotional again. "Hello Jim, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment?" Sherlock didn't let his blue eyes leave the screen.

* * *

John took a deep breath and hoped Jim would understand. "Jim I want to continue where we left off."

* * *

_"I want to continue where we left off."_ Sherlock's eyes were glued to the screen. It wasn't possible, no, it couldn't be! Sherlock clinched his fist and fought down the rising anger. Moriarty was a dead man. He had just clicked on the damn link and now this! "Why did John have to be such a naive idiot?" Sherlock thought standing up." No," he realized beginning to sit back down. "It's not his fault. He can't help it." Sherlock took a deep breath and dropped his head. He motioned the frightened Lestrade over, and took the file and began to read and reread every word and detail while continuing to listen to the link.

* * *

Jim looked at John and blinked. "Your serious?" his voice sounded like he was holding back his emotions. John wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Yes, well you see I really want to continue on with my life and hopefully my memories will come back. And-and based on what you said I realize that you may be the key to that and-" John's ramblings were cut off when Jim hugged John and pulled him down on to the bed.

"Oh John! I'm so happy! You have no idea how excited I am that you still trust me and you believe me and-" Jim planted a kiss on his cheek

and hugged the beat red man tighter.

* * *

Sherlock tried to ignore them as he focused on the ink covering his hand. "Don't let it get on the page." He kept repeating to himself as he threw away the broken pen

* * *

"Come on," The dark haired man insisted pulling John off the bed. "Lets celebrate!" Jim led the other man out of the room and into the rest of the house. Jim let go of John's hand and ran into the kitchen The blonde man stared at the apartment. It was a nice size, well furnished and decorated. As he took it all in he noticed that there were no picture-plenty of books, vases, flowers, and other things-but no pictures. John skimmed over some of the authors on the shelf: Swift, Carroll, Dickens, Wilde, Orwell, Vonnegurt, Doyle-

"John," Said man turned to look at the glasses and bottle in his friend-boyfriend?-'s hands.

"Sorry, I was looking at the books." Jim smiled and set the items down on a small table in the living room by the leather couch. Jim walked over and slipped his arms around John. The blonde wanted to squirm away as the man stood behind him and rested his chin on the crook of John's neck, yet he resisted, because that was their relationship.

"Oh yes, our book collection; it truly is magnificent . All of them are first editions." Jim kissed his cheek and began to pull away to pour the wine.

"How many have I read?" John wondered turning towards Jim, and waited for an answer.

Jim seemed to be in deep thought. "All of them. You kept them in such a pristine order." Jim handed the blood red liquid filled cup to John and grinned. Jim intertwined their fingers and raised his glass looking at John to do the same. "To us!" He lifted his glass higher. "A toast to us, and promise that no events, no items or objects, no person may be able to tear us about. Let us drink in hope that we will always be together." He grinned at John before taking a drink. John seemed frozen for a moment before following suit. The liquid burned his throat and warmed his body like an internal fire, as if the promise was being branded into him.

* * *

**Chapter Four is out the door and ****Im a poet and**** know it and I can make a rhyme anytime**

**Still super weird music while listening [I listened to angsty/intense music while writing Johns decision but when I typed I listened to romanic sweet music=two completely different feelings]**

**1) I am so so so so sooooooooooooooo sorry I havent updated in foreverz**

**2) I still own nothing**

**3) I am not dead**

**4) I love you all and reviews and...ya**

**5) This chapter was awful :(**

**6) Go my pretties go and review, alert, favorite, and what not! Mwahahaha *hack* *cough* *weeze***

**7) A vote for the next chap:**

**~A kiss! (Sherlock gets yummily upset and more drama ensues sooner!)**

**~Or not to kiss! (Its too soon! and Sherlock would die if he knew!)**


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